The Red Yarn
by Aurorax
Summary: Finally finished! Hear Owen's take as the last of the four Scanran heroes reflects on his own piece of red yarn and the Ordeal that looms in his future. A series of four one-shots covering the effect of the war on Kel, Neal, Dom, and Owen.
1. Kel

**Because I couldn't sleep, a quick series inspired by the ring Kel makes from the red yarn the refugee children leave behind for her to find in Lady Knight. I thought it would be interesting to look at the bonds that were formed between those who fought in Scanra; it doesn't seem like something they'd be quick to forget. Sorry if this has been done before, it just popped into my head as I was working on my other story. Enjoy!**

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**The Red Yarn**

It meant something different to each of them. They rarely spoke of what had happened, even to each other. When forced, they said that they had been lucky, and it was true. The years passed and the yarn faded, but never was it lost. They all knew it was much more than simple knots in string that had bound them together through the passing of time; still, it was good to have something to remind them of what truly mattered. The yarn served as a constant reminder of the journey they had shared.

**Kel kept it tied around her finger as a ring.** It had been an unconscious gesture, putting it on her ring finger. But it fit. She doubted that she would ever find the occasion to wear a wedding band, but it was a different doubt from what she had felt a few years ago. Her relationship with Cleon had taught her things she needed to learn about herself. Recently, Kel had been glad to realize that she could look back on it and appreciate everything gained without regret. And she had gained confidence, enough to realize that there were men out there who would not just overlook but also appreciate her role as a Lady Knight. But she was honestly not looking for that right now. She had New Hope, her refugees, Tobe…more than enough for one young woman to deal with. So the ring became a pledge, one that helped her to realize that she was not simply settling for second-best.

It was her shield, a defense against the long days and disenchanted knights that threatened to beat the idealism from her. She needed that to survive, her belief that one person could make a difference in the world. Really, it was hard to understand how one could fight without thinking that they were achieving anything beyond bloodshed and destruction. There was no simple way to be idealistic in war, but when she looked down at her finger, she couldn't help but be relieved at the stubbornness that had kept her from losing hope. It was scary, to know that the children had never doubted she would come to rescue them. It was even more scary to know how close she had come to betraying that faith. Next time the choice would be easier, though the decision would not change. They were her children, and she would fight for them, whatever the odds.

To Kel, it was the knowledge that she had found her place in the world. She wasn't ready to settle down with a husband yet; maybe she never would be. But that didn't mean she wasn't part of a family.

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**There will be three more chapters of a very similar structure, covering Neal, Dom, and Owen. Thanks for reading. I really like this idea, but I'm not sure how I feel about the end product, so I might try a rewrite on the same theme sometime in the near future. That being said, any suggestions for improvement you can give me would be gratefully accepted.**

**~Aurorax**


	2. Neal

**The Red Yarn- **It meant something different to each of them. Yet it served as a constant reminder of the journey they had shared.

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**Neal used it to tie his bag of healing supplies closed. **Every time he went to mend a child's cut or save a soldier's life, it was there to remind him of the sweat and the blood, the ones he couldn't save. To make him try just that little bit harder even when there was nothing left, so there would be one less face to haunt his dreams. Or one less child without a mother, or one less wife without a husband.

It was his conscience. To Kel, it probably had all sorts of noble meaning about the importance of impossible rescue missions and protecting kittens, like she would ever need a reminder. She would probably tell him he was being selfish, thinking of her when there were so many who hadn't made it back. But for Neal, it would always be the pain in her eyes when she told him not to heal the enemy. The proud smile when she noticed another bit of leather reign or wagon axel. The restrained ferocity of her gaze as she watched death burn. At age ten, she had taught him the meaning of chivalry; at age eighteen, the meaning of sacrifice. And somewhere in between, hidden amongst the obnoxiously cheery conversations during morning mess and the kicked shins of class, it had been strength, passion, faith, forgiveness. Wyldon had taught him to fight, to protect those weaker than himself; it was the training master who had made him a knight. But Kel showed them all why the weak were worth protecting and made him worthy of the title. Before he opened his bag he was reminded of lessons learned, lest he ever forget what it meant to be truly noble.

It was his heart. He liked to play the role of the conventional, traditional knight, to act as if his Gift was a chore, as if he didn't care. But it was so easy for the act to become real. So the yarn kept him from forgetting the man he wanted to be, the one who could look his best friend and all the world in the face without shame or fear. The man who had once risked death to save his people, who risked death every time he stubbornly refused to stop healing and began to draw on his own life force.

To Neal, it was the best part of himself. The part that was not cynical or jaded, but that fought like hell for each and every life, be it noble or common, young or old. It was everything that he was afraid to let show and everything that he was most terrified to lose.

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**So there's Neal- Dom will be next, with Owen last. This was harder for me to write than the others; Neal is a great character but he also seems to be one of the most difficult for me to write seriously and not just use as a foil for Kel or comic relief. Keep an eye out for the last two sections, they should be up in a day or so. Thanks!

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	3. Dom

**The Red Yarn- **It meant something different to each of them. Yet it served as a constant reminder of the journey they had shared.

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**Dom wrapped it tightly around the hilt of his sword. **A few years ago he would have called it the same color as the blood that ran down the blade with each cut and thrust. But that was wrong. Blood was a dirty, rusty, clinging color, and he wondered now how he could have ever believed it would be so pure. There had been so much blood, too much blood. He had nearly drowned. For adventure, that was why he had joined the Own; adventure and the freedom of a life on the road. He had joined for something to do, anything that would force the images of his dead cousins from his mind, even if it was only other dead that would replace them. You had to really love it to survive, that was what everyone said about life in the Own. And he had stayed- for his men, his friends, his commander, the people that he had met and couldn't imagine leaving behind to fight without him. Never for love. But as each day passed and the visions of the enemy's eyes began to fade, he knew he was no longer drowning; he had learned to swim. It was a survival instinct, the only way to stay sane in the hell of war, but what was the use of making it out alive if you lost yourself in the process?

It was his anchor, that which kept him Dom. Each time he ripped his blade out of a man's chest, the yarn that was not the color of blood was there to remind him to think. Not now- now was wheel and parry and shout an order, cut off the charge, get out of range. Later, when the bodies of the enemy dead lay cold and the leaping flames of the funeral pyre had burned down to glittering coals, he would remember. That even the enemy had wives and daughters, sons and lovers. That he had taken it all away. And that he would do the same the next day, and the next, because he believed in the country that he was fighting for and the soldiers that stood by his side. As he gripped the sword to take the field once more he was reminded of how easy it was to go from killing a man to being a killer. He walked a fine line, but he knew he would never fall into the encroaching darkness; too many people depended on his smile, and if he was swallowed up, they would surely follow. He couldn't be responsible for robbing the world of that much light.

It was his focus, something to look at instead of the enemy's face. The future that he was protecting with each life he ended. It had been a long time since he was innocent. He would never regret joining the Own; Raoul and the boys had made him the man he was today. But sometimes Dom wished that he could recapture a part of the boy he was long ago, before the wars and raiders, the pirates and immortals. The one who had waged mock duels with his younger cousin using sticks for swords and dreamed of fighting monsters. The one who had said he was going to be a hero. An idle wish; for him it was too late. Yet maybe if he fought hard enough, the doe-eyed boy with the floppy curls in camp could remain a boy for just one more day, one more month, one more year. Maybe no one would ever have to fight again. It was enough to keep him going through the long silent nights under the stars.

To Dom, it was the hope for a better tomorrow. The chance of a future in which he wouldn't have to sit in remembrance before the dying flames, to remind himself that he was more than a man with a sword; the chance that there might come a time when he could finally discover who he really was. There were no guarantees in life- but at this moment, for this lifetime, just maybe was enough.

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**Next post will be the last- only Owen is left, and he's my favorite. I've written most of that one already, so check back soon for the end. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Owen

**The Red Yarn- **It meant something different to each of them. Yet it served as a constant reminder of the journey they had shared.

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**Owen wore it around his wrist as a bracelet, secured with a simple knot. **The men at Giantkiller teased him to no end, thinking it was from his sweetheart back home, but he just ignored the taunts. It was easier than explaining, and the soldiers didn't push him; it was clear that the squire who returned to them, having lost his horse, his friends, and his innocence in the depths of the Scanran wilderness, was different than the boy who had left. But as they watched him bound into the mess after another long morning of dawn watch, even the most stalwart, world-weary soldier had to hide a smile at his unquenchable enthusiasm. Many things had changed, yes; but it was good to know that some things couldn't be beaten away, not by war or punishments or threat of death by flying, and that some spirits could never be fully broken.

It was his badge, that which distinguished him among his peers. Sergeants had armbands, mages their colored robes. Owen had his piece of yarn. But it meant more to him than any honor or title the King might bestow; it meant more to him than his shield. Because that was what he thought it would cost. He had been willing to give up his dreams of knighthood, all that had sustained him in the years since his mother's death, without a second glance or a breath of regret- that single moment taught him more about himself than all of the last seven years together. Kel said that he was growing up. And it was scary, having to make the hard decisions, more scary even than tilting lessons, or Wyldon's face the first time he caught his daughter and squire kissing in a dark corner of the kennels. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of being grown up, even if it did mean getting the chance to fight bandits and go adventuring. But he knew he was ready, and that's what set him apart from the crowd. He had been a soldier, a squire, a message runner and a scout, but now, at last, he was a man.

It was his keepsake, a token by which to remember. To remember that one hunted bandits to protect potential victims rather than to seek retribution for old wounds, ones that no amount of deaths could ever heal. To remember that he could put his faith in his instincts, whether they told him to dodge left or to follow his heart rather than his orders. And most of all, to remember the look of approval he had seen flash across his knightmaster's face as he stood defiantly on the bank, ready to defend his friends with his last breath if necessary. Secretly, Owen respected Lord Wyldon more than any other man he knew; more than any other person, really, save Kel and his mother who had died fighting. He had admired his Lord's bravery from the first time he set eyes on the scars which marred the classic features, and a grudging respect continued to grow as each year passed. Now, seeing that same respect mirrored back at him through eyes that were often cold, often distant, at times concerned but rarely ever pleased, Owen knew he had achieved that which he had strived for without fail through the endless rides and countless lessons. He had made his knightmaster proud, earned his regard and esteem as a soldier; and for the first time, it taught him to hope that he might someday win the same approval as a son.

To Owen, it was the strength he needed to face the unknown path before him. The Chamber doors loomed, harsh, unyielding. Faint whispers of the men and women they had lost swam before his eyes as he took that final step inside. But he took it, without hesitation; he was ready.

**Four pieces of yarn; four separate people. One journey that wound them inexorably into one another's lives.

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**Wow, my first story ever completed. Let me know if you think one of the four is particularly weak, and I'll work on it a bit more. Thanks for reading!

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